


The Last One to Know

by Cinaed



Category: CSI: Las Vegas
Genre: Abandoned Work - Unfinished and Discontinued, M/M, Marriage, Unrequited Love
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2006-06-22
Updated: 2006-07-31
Packaged: 2017-10-08 03:46:47
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,802
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/72377
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cinaed/pseuds/Cinaed
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It's only on the eve of his wedding that Greg figures out he's missed something.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Last One To Know

_(I get the feeling I’m missing something here, something in the subtle words you say and the way you look at me.)_

Greg shouldn’t be surprised (and isn’t) when Nick and Warrick throw him a bachelor’s party to celebrate his last night as a free man in the banquet hall of a casino. He _is_, however, surprised at who else Nick and Warrick have invited -- Bobby, Archie, Neil, Travis, Ronnie, and both Davids are there. He’d just assumed the bachelor’s party would be comprised of only CSIs (not that he’s complaining that it isn’t, in fact it’s pretty damn awesome that Nick and Warrick had invited the lab technicians). 

He’s even more surprised that people like Ronnie (whose wife will probably be very displeased at learning he was at a bachelor’s party) and David (who seems too antisocial to come to any sort of _party_ at all) are there. Of course, when Greg grins at Ronnie, the first words out of the other man’s mouth are, "If there’s a stripper, I’m gone." Plus, David isn’t really joining in the festivities, instead just watching the rest of the group and nursing a Scotch. All in all, Greg guesses things aren’t as odd as they originally seemed. 

"Well, _I_ didn’t hire a stripper," Nick says, and looks pointedly at Warrick, who just grins, which makes Greg curious to see whether or not there will be a stripper at his bachelor party (she in fact shows up an hour later, much to Ronnie’s displeasure, and the redhead looks a little puzzled as the questioned documents tech flushes hotly and all but flees from the banquet hall). 

And Greg can’t help but laugh, because the stripper is almost the exact opposite of his future bride -- she is tall to Becky’s short stature, busty to Becky’s more subtle curves, slender to Becky’s stockiness, and pale to Becky’s tan. He wonders if anyone else notices the irony, but suspects most of the men (except for Bobby and David, who are both wearing long-suffering expressions, and Nick, who is blushing and burying his face in a drink) are too focused on the stripper’s long, pale legs to notice. 

And then, of course, as the man of the hour, Greg gets the stripper’s undivided attention, and after that, Greg loses track of time, until she finally puts her hands on her hips, smiling, and says, "Well, I’ve got to go. Congrats on tying the knot, Greggo." 

He smiles after her, and it’s only after she sashays her way out of the room that he realizes everyone else seems to have vanished. Greg blinks and looks around at the overturned champagne glasses and half-filled tumblers, and mutters, "Where’d everyone go?" 

"Seeing as it’s almost three in the morning and your wedding begins at ten o’clock? Home, I’d suspect, if they have an ounce of common sense," a familiar voice drawls.

Greg grins a little at David, who apparently hasn’t moved from his chair. The trace tech is on his sixth or seventh Scotch, if the glasses around him are any indication, and judging by the careful way David is pronouncing his words, it seems as though his tongue is giving him some trouble. 

"And you’re still here, why?" he asks, raising an eyebrow. 

David smirks vaguely at that, and finishes off his latest Scotch before he says, "_I_ might have common sense, but my legs seem content to just let me sit here." 

"Let me help you up." The offer leaps off his tongue before he can even consider them, and he flushes a little under David’s incredulous stare. "Hey, you know Jacqui would kill me if I left you here. She wouldn’t even let me make it down the aisle. Take me out before I can even kiss the bride." 

He watches David just stare at him for a moment, the incredulity shifting to something unreadable. "Fine," David mutters after a moment, and attempts to heave himself out of the chair, and both his frame and the chair wobble precariously for a moment before Greg grabs his shoulders and helps him stand. He’s a little startled at the slight dampness that seeps through the Oxford shirt; then again, he’s never seen David this drunk before -- some people perspire when they’re three sheets to the wind. 

"I’m guessing you need a taxi," Greg comments, and is rewarded by his stating of the obvious by a snort and an eye-roll, a familiar David Hodges gesture that always makes Greg want to grin, even when David is being particularly obnoxious. "I know a cheap but trusty cab company." 

"What a Good Samaritan," the other man drawls, and leans heavily against Greg as they leave the banquet hall, his almost spicy musk filling Greg’s senses as they weave through the crowds of gamblers and finally make it outside. 

It is an especially cool Nevada night, and Greg shivers a little before he says, "Want me to call the cab company?" because he’s not so sure how well David can focus his eyes at the moment. Again comes the unreadable look, and then David just nods, still leaning against him, his breath hot compared to the cool breeze. 

Greg fishes his cell out of his pocket and after a quick conversation, announces, "There’s a cab a couple blocks over -- he’ll be here in ten minutes." Which meant it will be about twenty, but, hey, he can pretend to be optimistic. 

"Wonderful," David says, and alcohol has softened the sarcastic bite in his voice and begun to slur his words, although it hasn’t dulled his smirk, which is dark and bitter. "Now, Mr. Good Samaritan, y’can leave. The groom needs his beauty sleep, after all." 

Greg blinks as David takes a step away from him; the sudden loss of body heat raises goose bumps on his skin, and he shivers again. "I can wait here until the cab gets here. It’s no big deal." 

David rolls his eyes. "Let me put this more bluntly: _get lost_." The last two words hold an undercurrent of sudden anger that makes Greg blink and frown at him. 

"No good deed goes unpunished, I suppose?" he finally ventures after a moment, still frowning. "Look, you’re plastered, I’m trying to be nice." When David just scowls at him, he sighs and attempts a flippant tone. "Okay, I secretly just want to make sure you don’t get mugged, because you not coming to the wedding would _really_ screw up the sitting arrangements." He shrugs. "So much for my Good Samaritan guise." 

The scowl shifts to the unreadable look again, and after a moment, David summons up a smirk and shrugs. "Fine. Ten minutes, you said?" Greg nods, and the trace tech shakes his head and tucks his hands in his pockets. 

"Anyway, you _are_ coming--" Greg stops, blinking, as David frowns and suddenly swears. "What?" 

"Forgot t’give you the present." The slur intensifying with his frustration, David pulls out a small package from one of his pockets and tosses it at Greg, and the CSI fumbles for a moment before he catches it and blinks. 

"Well, open it," David says impatiently after a moment of Greg just staring. 

"Okay," Greg says slowly, and tears off the wrapping, certain this is going to be a joke. And of course it is, but he can’t keep from laughing at the sight of the hand-sized dictionary. "Gee, thanks. Are you _ever_ gonna let me live down the ‘funtain’ incident?" 

"Never," David says, and when Greg shoots a pout in his direction, shrugs and adds, "Besides, I figured you could use it when you’re marking evidence. Prevent the ‘funtain’ incident from ever happening again." 

Greg laughs and shakes his head, and looks down at the hand-sized dictionary. On a whim, he flips through it to the word fountain, and laughs again when he sees that David has circled it and written in tiny, precise letters, ‘Never forget the ‘Funtain’ Fiasco.’ He flips to spa as well, and there David has written, ‘Spelled this way in any language, Sanders.’ 

Still grinning, he looks up to see that an almost bittersweet smile has crept onto David’s lips, and there is an odd gleam in David’s eyes that he can’t identify, but one that raises goose bumps on his arms and makes him swallow thickly. "Thanks," he says, and the word comes out softer and with a ring of sincerity that surprises even himself. 

The odd gleam doesn’t fade, and David just looks at him for a long moment, the bittersweet smile lingering and deepening the lines of his face, and Greg suddenly notices how_tired_ David looks. 

"David, I…." He falters, not knowing what to say or even what he _wants_ to say. He has never been more relieved (or disappointed, judging by the sudden pang in his stomach) when a taxi rolls up to the curve and the driver calls out, "One of you Greg Sanders?" 

It takes two swallows for Greg to get out a, "Yes." 

David keeps looking at him for another moment, the bittersweet smile still on his lips, and the gleam turning his eyes too-bright, and he seems about to say something for a moment, before he shakes his head, as though to clear it. 

"David," Greg says again, not knowing why he feels suddenly panicked, and David tucks his hands into his pockets again and says quietly, almost gently, "Congratulations, Greg."

Greg watches him get into the taxi, hears the quiet instructions to the cabby, and it is only after the taxi disappears from view that he realizes his death-hold on the dictionary has turned his knuckles white. 

He loosens his grip a little, and swallows thickly, wondering all the while why he has this sinking feeling that he’s just missed something important.   



	2. Unsaid Words

_(Do you hear it in the silence? A thousand unsaid words, all of which I should have said to you.) _

Greg isn’t sure how long he stands there, clutching the dictionary and staring in the direction that David’s taxi has gone. During that entire time, however, the feeling that he’s missed something doesn’t wane -- in fact it does the exact opposite and increases, until Greg is almost dizzy. 

He swallows and wonders at the panicky build-up of pressure in his chest. He takes a few deep breaths before he shakes his head, trying to clear it, and it’s about that time Greg realizes he’s been staring off into the distance for quite a few minutes, if his constant shivering and slightly numb hands are any indication. 

He stows the dictionary away in the pocket of his jacket and then heads towards his car, turning over the night’s events in his head. This is some sort of jigsaw puzzle, and Greg _will_ figure it out. He just has to collect all the pieces first. 

Even as he pulls out of the casino’s parking lot, Greg sets out the pieces neatly. First, there was the fact that David came to the party at all. After all, he hadn’t gone to David Phillips’ bachelor party. Then there’s the fact that David had gotten thoroughly smashed, and Greg has never seen David drink more than one or two glasses. There’s also the fact that David had gotten him a present, and Greg wasn’t sure if guys were supposed to give each other presents at bachelor parties (aside from strippers, that is). And the biggest puzzle piece of all has to be that _look_ on David’s face, the one that even just thinking about makes Greg’s breath come short and an agitated feeling knot his stomach. ‘Course, he’s not sure if he’s got that piece figured out yet, because he hasn’t named that expression. 

Well, Greg definitely has a lot (if not all) of the pieces of the jigsaw. It’s too bad that he still doesn't know if he’s trying to do a puzzle of the Eiffel Tower or a teddy bear. 

After a moment, he nods to himself, absently noticing the red light and barely managing to come to a stop in time. He’ll go ask Jacqui. She understands the inner workings of David Hodges better than anyone else does (which is to say, not that well, but hey, she knows him better than Greg, and that’s something at least). 

It’s only after he rings her doorbell that he remembers it’s almost four in the morning and that she’s probably going to kill him for waking her up. He absently touches the dictionary in his pocket and tries to ready himself for his death (at least he didn’t die a virgin). 

He’s caught off-guard by the expression on Jacqui’s face when she opens the door -- rather than pissy, she looks expectant, like she _knew_ he was going to come over or something, which he doesn’t think she could possibly have known, unless she’s suddenly become psychic. Greg’s even more confused when the expectant look slides off her face and is replaced by an expression of confusion. 

"Greg?" Jacqui blinks at him. "I thought you were…shouldn’t you be in bed?" She checks her wristwatch. "Your wedding’s in six hours. You should definitely be sleeping." 

"Yeah, probably." He forces himself to smile. Obviously, Jacqui was expecting someone (the question is who, but since this isn’t part of the David Hodges jigsaw, he ignores her confused look in favor of his own investigation). "Can I come in?" 

She hesitates, still blinking bemusedly at him. Despite the fact that she’s been expecting someone, she is wearing faded pajamas that used to have either ducks on them or bright yellow fish (he’s gonna guess the former), and the gag gift bunny slippers that Archie had given her last Christmas. 

"Fine," Jacqui says at last, stepping aside to let him inside, and he gratefully escapes the cool Nevada night. "Though if you’re here because you’ve got cold feet, don’t expect me to buy you a bus ticket to Miami or Seattle under an assumed name." 

Greg makes a face. "I didn’t get cold feet." 

Jacqui just raises a skeptical eyebrow at that, and doesn’t say a word, just closes her door and _looks_ at him. After a moment of silence, during which Greg is trying to figure out how to ask, ‘What the hell is up with David?’ without sounding crazy, she says, "Well? I’m assuming this is something important if you’re ringing my doorbell at four in the morning." 

"I…." It’s funny, Greg has never had trouble with words, in fact his tongue often wags a little _too_ freely (as his accidentally letting slip to Sara how old he was when he lost his virginity can attest to), but even just thinking about the odd gleam in David’s eyes makes him struggle for coherency. "David came to my bachelor party." 

Some unknown emotion flickers across Jacqui’s face at that, but before Greg can even start to try and define it, she rolls her eyes and declares, "While I realize that David being social is a sign of the Apocalypse, I have to remind you that we get seven years at the end of the world, so you’ll get at least that much time with Becky." 

"He gave me this," Greg says, and pulls out the dictionary.

The same emotion flickers across her face, but this time he recognizes it as wariness. What’s _Jacqui_ got to be cautious about? She just looks at the dictionary for a moment, and then shrugs, a forced smile on her lips. "What is with you boys and your gag gifts?" 

"It wasn’t a gag gift," he argues, thinking of that bittersweet smile and how tired David had looked. Flipping to the page with fountain on it, he thrusts it towards her. 

She reads the words David had written on the page, and shakes her head. "This is obviously a gag gift, Greg. David--" 

"It _wasn’t_ a gag gift, Jacqui," he repeats firmly, more certain of this than he has been of anything. When she just shakes her head again, he taps a finger against the pages of the open dictionary. "It _wasn’t_. He had the weirdest look on his face--"

"Greg, why would David get you a gift? That’s not the David we all know and lo…put up with," Jacqui says, equally firm, but the wariness is naked on her face now. "It’s a gag gift. What else could it be?" 

"I don’t know," Greg says, frustration creeping into his voice. "That’s what I came here to ask you. I mean, he had this _look_, like he--" And then all the pieces slide into the place, and in a burst of enlightenment that feels like a punch to the gut, Greg figures out what he’s been missing. 

"Oh," he says, ignoring the worried look Jacqui is directing his way. The inside of his head is suddenly buzzing, and he feels vaguely sick to his stomach. "Oh. He-- oh _shit_." And then he snatches the dictionary from her and makes a break for his car. 

It’s not until he’s halfway to David’s house that the buzzing quiets down enough for coherent thoughts to emerge, panicked ones like _How the hell did I, the self-proclaimed master of subtext, miss that?_ and _What the hell am I going to say to him?_

Unfortunately, he is still grasping for an answer to the latter when he gets up to David’s front door and rings the doorbell. 

There is no answer, and Greg frowns at the dark house before he presses the doorbell again. Finally a light turns on, and a few moments later David is peering out at him blearily through a crack in the door and muttering, "What the hell? I was _sleeping_, Sanders. It’s something sane people do--" 

"Can I talk to you?" Those words tumble off his lips at least, albeit haphazardly, and David blinks and frowns before he opens the door wider and Greg steps inside. 

"If you’ve got cold feet, I’m not the best one to help you out," David says, and rubs at his eyes as though trying not to fall back to sleep on his feet or perhaps he’s just doubting his own sight. "Your best bet’s Archie. He could probably get you a fake passport and everything." 

"David," Greg says, and again he struggles for words, and he suspects that this is going to be a fight to the death for coherency, as David eyes him and looks about to say something scathing. "I just wanted to…I didn’t realize…." 

"Didn’t realize what?" David says, tone sharp, when Greg falters. The tired, puzzled expression on his face has shifted to one that’s hard and almost angry. "Didn’t realize _what_, Greg?" 

He swallows. "How you felt." The words feels like bullets aimed for David’s chest as they propel from between his lips, and the bitter backlash and imagined taste of gunpowder makes him feel even more nauseous than before. 

David is eyeing him, and wariness radiates from every pore, as though David is certain this is a trap and that he needs to be careful lest he get ensnared. When he speaks, his tone is guarded. "How I felt about what, precisely?" 

The words catch at the back of his throat, but somehow Greg forces out, "How you felt about me." 

The other man raises an eyebrow and is obviously trying for a smirk, but it comes out as a half-grimace instead. "What? That you’re a poor speller? I would have thought that was obvious." When Greg just looks at him, he sighs and rolls his eyes. "Go to your apartment and sleep, Greg. You’re obviously half-mad from panic at realizing that you’ve actually found someone willing to marry you--"

"You should have said something." Greg should probably be wording this more carefully, should probably be explaining that if David had kept quiet because he thought Greg was straight, he hadn’t known about Greg’s ‘experimenting’ in San Francisco, should probably be mentioning that when people joked that Greg flirted with everyone, they didn’t realize he was _actually_ flirting with everyone. 

He should be doing all those things, but instead his words are coming out all helter-skelter, without his consent. "I mean, you could’ve said something, you know? I--"

Greg’s not quite certain what happens next, but the next thing he knows he is being pinned to David’s wall, and the other man’s hand is twisting his shirt collar and cutting off his oxygen, and David is growling, something harsh and desperate in his voice, "Don’t you dare tell me we had a chance, Greg -- don’t you fucking _dare_." 

Even if Greg wasn’t breathless, he would be speechless, just looking at the hard, despondent look on David’s face and hearing that harsh, desperate tone, and so he is silent even after David makes a sound of disgust and releases his death-grip on Greg’s collar. 

David takes a step back, running a trembling hand through his hair, and drops his gaze. "Go home and go to bed, Sanders," he advises quietly. "Think of your bride, whom I’m sure is lovely and delightful and perfect for you. Go. Get some sleep." 

"David," Greg says again, this time knowing all-too-well why he feels suddenly panicked, and finally retreats from the house as David’s face twists into an expression of grief and he snarls in a voice filled with despair, "Just _go_, damnit!" 

And so Greg goes. He gets back into his car and drives home, peels off his socks and shoes and takes off his belt and crawls into bed. Try as he might, though, he can’t sleep a wink, and spends the rest of the night staring up at the ceiling and remembering the despair in David’s voice and the look on his face, and wishing that he hadn’t been enlightened to the fact that David was in love with him. 

When he gets to the church, Nick takes one look at him and chuckles. "Knew you’d get cold feet, G." 

"Yeah," Greg says, and pastes a smile on his face that manages to stay on his lips all the way through the ceremony. He is aware that Jacqui is watching him with watchful, almost melancholy eyes, and that David is nowhere to be seen, and he cannot decide whether he has never been more relieved or rueful at that fact. 

When he slides the ring onto Becky’s finger, he is struck by how _thick_ her fingers are compared to David’s, or how her beaming smile seems overwhelming bright compared to David’s more subtle smiles and smirks. 

"You may now kiss the bride," the reverend announces, and Greg feels a wave of something akin to hopelessness and regret and a thousand unsaid words that will never be said aloud crash over him as he leans forward to gently kiss Becky’s lips. 


End file.
